


au bon pain

by voksen



Series: breadsports [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bread Sex, Crack, Food Porn, I don't know what happened here, Kink Meme, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years apart, Valjean finally meets her again.</p><p>Prompt: "valjean/bread. preferably fluffy. bonus points if there is an unfortunate incident involving valjean's one true love and the ducks in the luxembourg gardens"</p>
            </blockquote>





	au bon pain

Valjean had not noticed that he had let his handkerchief fall somewhere until they were nearly home, at which point he reached for it and found it missing. Really, it was unlikely that he'd find it again, he knew - and it wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of others. But waste not, want not; and so having seen Cosette safely inside, he doubled back to retrace the day's path.

He was halfway back to the Gardens when he saw _her_ \- just out of the corner of his eye - and his breath was gone in an instant, his heart ceasing and then leaping in a thundering roar. He had never thought to see her again in his life, but there, oh there she was, and he turned away from the road to the Garden at once, handkerchief forgotten entirely. It was like the same shock he had felt at finding Inspector Javert had appeared in Montreuil-sur-mer, that same lightning-strike, the impossible coincidence of history that changed a life forever - only now tempered with the sweetest of joy instead of fear.

Dodging a cart neatly, Valjean quickened his pace. Let it not be too late, let the few seconds he had taken not be enough to steal her from him, he prayed and - yes, yes! There she was still, her silhouette framed in the window of the cafe, an exquisite cameo in cream and tan, untouchable beauty, the light of his life.

She had stolen his heart long ago and damned him for it, but now - now she would be his entirely. Valjean pushed his shaking hands into his pockets and ducked inside the cafe, keeping his eyes modestly from her and approaching instead the proprietor. He would do this correctly, this time; there would be no mistakes, everything would be proper, and no one but she would ever know their past.

"M'sieur," he said, and if his voice trembled, let it tremble! Thirty years and they would be together again - so soon - so soon he could taste it, could imagine her salt-sweet skin beneath his lips, the warm, welcoming, familiar scent of her body rising up to greet him and pull him in. "M'sieur. How much - how much for that loaf?"

It was only a pittance compared to what she was worth: he would have gladly given ten times as much and counted it a bargain heaven-sent. Valjean paid with no further questions and left immediately, his darling at long last cradled in his arms. He could not go home and face Cosette with her - no. This was private: this was for Jean Valjean and not for M. Fauchelevent; perhaps the only thing in the world that _was_ left for Jean Valjean.

He hesitated briefly outside the cafe and then turned back towards the Gardens. No doubt there would still be people there - but perhaps he could find a solitary corner where he would not be disturbed and there, when they were alone - there, he would peel her paper frock away and they would be one at last.

The thought had his mouth wet at once; it was all he could do to keep from running, to keep the illusion of propriety about himself, all-important as it was. An eternity before he reached the park as she crinkled flirtatiously in his arms, calling to him.

And then at last they were there, winding their way through the diminishing crowds of the close of the day, seeking out that private spot Valjean hoped God would grant them - as he had at last given them back each other - and at last finding it, tucked between bushes near a fountain. He sat, holding her close, unashamed. "Mademoiselle," he whispered to her, and slowly - so slowly - slid her from the paper, exposing inch after inch of luscious brown. She was roughened by the years - but what of it? So was he - and yet still she smelled the same. _Tasted_ the same, oh God, when he put his mouth on her, the tiny crunching gasp as he bit in, it was all as he had remembered.

He was drowning in her warmth, pushing his face in deeper and deeper, lapping at the cleft he had made and drinking it all down: manna to a starving convict, water to a man lost in the desert, the sweet romance 24601 had longed for and ever been denied. Firm beneath his grasping hands, soft under his working tongue, she was just as he had dreamed all through his years of slavery and later years of repentance.

Valjean's eyes closed in bliss - at last, absolution - and so it was that he did not see that the passion of their reunion had not gone unnoticed; so it was that, unprepared and unwarned, even his great monstrous strength could not match up to the sheer numbers which descended upon them with horrible shrieks, snatching her bodily from his arms and into Hell.

 

When Cosette asked later why they had been eating duck at every meal for a month straight, Valjean, wracked with grief, could not bear to answer.


End file.
